


Expect A Thousand More

by supergrover24



Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Consent Issues, Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-21
Updated: 2012-06-21
Packaged: 2017-11-08 06:27:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/440151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supergrover24/pseuds/supergrover24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan's eyes widen, and Spencer is reminded of days long ago, when Ryan's expressions showed more hurt than happiness, and Spencer hates that he can thank Keltie for fixing that, for fixing Ryan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Expect A Thousand More

**Author's Note:**

> Written (unbelievably late) for the Life Imitates Music Challenge, for [](http://wishpaper.livejournal.com/profile)[**wishpaper**](http://wishpaper.livejournal.com/), who requested the tune _Captain Crash and the Beauty Queen From Mars_ by Bon Jovi. Title from _Calling You_ by Blue October. Song list and other details at end of fic.
> 
> Warnings: Slightly Dubious Consent. Also, the girlfriends are not ignored, and bottoming from the top Spencer. Does that need a warning?  
> Originally posted to LJ on December 2, 2007.

  
_begin_   


At the wise old age of nine, Spencer knows friends are rare and should be kept at all costs. This is especially true of Ryan, his best friend in the whole world. They've shared many adventures and Spencer knows they'll share many more, through middle school and high school and in college, when they're _really_ old. He'll do anything for Ryan, including hiding him in his bedroom at night and giving him ice for his bruised eye without asking questions.

This, though, crosses the line, Spencer thinks. This will surely result in death. At the very least, he'll get grounded and quite possibly spanked.

"Ryan!" Spencer screams in a whisper as best he can. "Ryan! Get over here!"

On his knees in mud, Ryan keeps staring through the hole in the fence, gesturing over his shoulder for Spencer to be quiet. Grounded, spanked and forced to play with his baby sister for a _week_ , Spencer amends in his head as he creeps up behind Ryan.

"What are you _doing_ , idiot?" Spencer leans over Ryan's shoulder, trying to see whatever Ryan's looking at and failing. "Come on, Ry. We're gonna get in trouble. Let's _go_."

"SHH!" Ryan turns his head, and their noses brush, causing Spencer to wrinkle his. "That poor little dog needs to be rescued. Whoever lives here is neglecting it. They're _mean_." He turns back to the fence, misses Spencer rolling his eyes.

"Ryan, the Jacksons aren't mean. They're at work."

Ryan pushes back from the fence and faces him. "They're _mean_ , Spencer. It's the hottest day of the summer and that poor little dog is _outside_."

Spencer crosses his arms and tries to glare at Ryan like he's seen his mom glare at his dad a million times.

"Oh, whatever, Spencer. Don't look at me like that." Ryan grins. "We have to _rescue_ him!"

"Ryan, oh my God, we do not have to do that! I am not getting grounded because we stole a dog." Spencer isn't whining, he tells himself. He's not. He's just not going to steal the Jacksons' beagle.

"We won't get grounded." Ryan sounds convinced. "We're rescuing a dog from dying. They'll thank us."

"It's not a homeless dog, Ryan," Spencer pleads one last time. "It's not like...like those people we saw when we visited Grandpa and your dad at work. It's not a...it's not a _hobo_ , Ryan! They'll be home later!"

Ryan starts walking away. "I thought you were my best friend, Spencer. Come on!"

Spencer has no choice but to follow Ryan down the fence to the pile of bricks his dad still hasn't cleaned up from building the garden wall. He really has no choice but to steady Ryan as he clambers up the pile to reach the top of the fence.

He is so gonna be grounded.

But maybe Ryan's smile is worth it.

***

Spencer's dad waves them off with a vague "meet me back here in 30 minutes, boys," though Spencer knows he really means an hour. His dad has a strange and disturbing love for the Sears tool department and picking up drill bits surely will to lead to buying a new drill altogether.

So, an hour in the mall. With Ryan. Not so bad. Except it's something like ass o'clock on a Saturday morning and Spencer is overtired, trailing along after an oddly hyperactive Ryan.

"Dude, slow down," Spencer absolutely does not whine. Someday he'll master the art of whining without actually sounding like he's whining, he thinks. He's gotten better, but on four hours of sleep you can't expect miracles.

"We only have an hour, Spence, and I need jeans," Ryan says as he ducks in between racks of clothes.

_Girl_ clothes.

"Why're we in the girls' section, Ryan?" Spencer asks around a yawn as he looks around in distaste at the animal prints and sparkles, good God, on the same top even. _Ew._

Ryan doesn't answer him, just stands in front of a mirror holding up jeans to his waist before he seems to settle on three pairs to try on.

_Girl_ jeans.

"Are you seriously gonna try on girl jeans? I thought you were joking with that shit."

Ryan looks at him for a moment, clearly debating whether or not to be sarcastic. Finally he sighs and heads toward the dressing room.

The _girls'_ dressing room. Christ.

"Okay, fine, but can we at least go to the men's department for you to try them on?"

"No," Ryan says emphatically. "There are no girls here this early and the last thing I want is some creepy old guy staring at my sixteen-year-old-ass." Spencer crosses his arms and arches an eyebrow in response. "Asshole," Ryan laughs. "Come on, keep an eye out so we don't get in trouble."

"Fine. You want to squeeze your nuts into those jeans, be my guest. I'll stick to clothes bought in the men's section, thanks." Spencer rolls his eyes, but follows anyway, leaning against the wall opposite the door. From here he can see the clearance racks of ugly clothes and Ryan's bony feet and hairy legs as he changes. Spencer swallows and stares at the clothes some more.

That lavender t-shirt is kinda cute, actually. Hmm.

"Okay, that pair was clearly too big," Ryan says.

Spencer looks back to Ryan's changing room briefly, but the door is still shut, so he moves closer to the main entrance, trying to get a better look at the t-shirt.

"Oh!" Ryan actually sounds excited, and Spencer turns around with a guilty start, like he got caught doing something he shouldn't, but the door to Ryan's dressing room is still shut.

"Is that a good 'Oh' or a bad 'Oh'?"

Ryan opens the door, standing awkwardly in his bare feet and peeking out at Spencer from behind his bangs, which are just beginning to fall below his eyes. Spencer can only stare at him—at how the t-shirt tucked up under his armpits shows the way his hipbones jut over the top of the waistband, and the trail of hair on his lower stomach that Spencer swears he's never noticed before. Ryan's framed perfectly in the mirror attached to the wall behind him, and Spencer can just make out the dip in his lower back, the swell of his butt—is he even wearing underwear? _Ew._ —and Spencer knows he's going to start blushing.

"Oh," he says. "Um. Yeah. It's almost been an hour. Just. Let's pay for those and go."

Ryan looks at him for what feels like forever before he nods and starts to shut the door, unbuttoning the jeans even as the door swings closed.

Spencer tries to swallow, but it gets stuck in his throat because he can't catch his breath.

He's so screwed.

***

Spencer wakes up to an empty but softly-lit hotel room around three in the morning. He knows Ryan had been in the other bed writing when Spencer had finally fallen asleep a few hours ago, but now the only sign of his presence is the discarded pen on Ryan's pillow, brightly visible on the stark-white pillowcase. Spencer rolls onto his back, listening for sounds from the bathroom for a few minutes before he realizes that Ryan's not in there, either. He sits up, rubbing his hands over his face in an attempt to wipe the urge to sleep away, trying to remember where he tossed his jeans, mentally reviewing the list of places Ryan could've—would've—gone to in the middle of the night.

Suddenly the events of the day come rushing back at him: the crowds, the excitement, the absolute fear and rage when Brendon got hit by the bottle. That's where Ryan must be, Spencer thinks, checking on Brendon like the doctors and Jon and Zack couldn't handle it.

Spencer understands, is about to go across the hall himself, when Ryan slowly opens the door and creeps back in.

"Ryan?" Spencer coughs, trying to clear the sleep from his throat. "Where'd you go?"

Ryan jumps at hearing Spencer's voice, a sure sign that he's exhausted.

"I, uh," he pauses to lock and deadbolt the door. "I checked on Brendon and then walked around a bit. You know, up and down the hallway. Trying to burn off this energy." Ryan sits on his own bed, head hanging down, stupid bangs covering his face, shoulders tight and knees bouncing.

"Oh. C'mere." Spencer shifts over in his bed and pulls the blankets back. He just barely resists patting the mattress.

Ryan tilts his head up long enough to roll his eyes before looking back down at his knees.

Spencer rolls his own eyes and sighs loudly. "Stop being a moron and come _here_." He crosses his arms out of habit, but he knows the bitchiness is lost to pajamas and bedhead.

Ryan stares at him for a few moments before crossing the short distance between their beds and crawling under the covers. Spencer lies on his left side, Ryan on his right and they both settle the blankets around their shoulders before they stop moving and just breathe for a minute.

"How's Brendon doing?" Spencer finally asks.

Ryan's mouth fights a smile. "I was in there when they woke him up for the fifth time and he didn't open his eyes. I started to really freak out until he said, and I quote, 'If you fuckheads don't stop waking me up every fucking hour I am going to punch you in the fucking throat.'" Spencer exhales a soft laugh before he can stop himself. "Yeah, he's fine, I think," Ryan sighs. "Thank God."

"Hey, Ryan," Spencer hesitates before he reaches out to push Ryan's hair off his forehead. "Everything is fine, Brendon's fine. You need to sleep." Spencer can't stop playing with Ryan's hair, though, runs his fingers through it to massage the base of Ryan's skull.

Ryan closes his eyes and Spencer swears he can see the tension melt out of him. He shifts closer, their legs brushing and knees knocking together like they haven't since they were kids. Spencer misses this, the easy way he used to touch Ryan before.

Before Jac and before Haley and just before.

Before he stood in a fucking Sears at the age of fifteen and realized he wanted to touch Ryan all the damned time.

Spencer keeps moving his fingers, trails them down the stubble along Ryan's jaw and brushes his thumb along Ryan's bottom lip. Ryan opens his eyes but doesn't say anything, just looks at Spencer and Spencer, he can't help it, he moves closer, kisses the corner of Ryan's mouth. When Ryan just exhales softly, Spencer does it again, harder, and gently flicks his tongue along Ryan's lip in imitation of his thumb. Ryan still doesn't move, though, and Spencer pulls back, afraid.

Ryan reaches up to thread his fingers with Spencer's, curling their hands between their bodies. Ryan's fingers are like ice, as usual.

"Ryan," Spencer starts.

Ryan shushes him and squeezes his hand. "When we get home, Spence, I promise. Just. Sleep, okay?" Ryan closes his eyes, but doesn't let go of his hand.

Spencer does the same.

***

They get home and it's all rush rush rush for the VMAs, and Spencer tells himself _after, we'll talk about it after_ and pushes through the rehearsals and Ryan's birthday and the show itself and the parties.

Then Ryan meets Keltie, and after never comes.

***

Spencer spends his nineteenth birthday watching Ryan surreptitiously checking his Sidekick every five minutes and wishing he could love his girlfriend even half as much as she loves him.

***

Haley texts on the Saturday after Spencer's twenty-first birthday, when the bus is somewhere in Georgia, a simple _S: call me at the next bus stop? H._ Spencer is adept at reading between the lines, has been reading Haley's subtext for years now and knows that those seven words really mean something like:

_Spencer. Call me when you're alone and in private so I can break up with you because I know it's not me you're in love with, it's Ryan, because maybe, Spencer, just maybe you should avoid sending your girlfriend drunken confession emails about how your attempt to kiss your best friend at your birthday party was a complete failure (which you blame on Pete Wentz and his stupid drink specials—the attempt, anyway; the failure you blame on Brendon and his stupid loud "OH MY GOD, SPENCER SMITH ARE YOU KISSING RYAN?"). So, yes, Spencer, we're done. Haley._

Spencer calls when they stop along Route 16, just outside Macon (prompting Brendon's endless jokes of "We're Macon Bacon!"). He wanders away from the bus, Zack a polite distance away, and lets Haley have her say, not really hearing her words, just murmuring agreement and sighing until he finally shoves his phone into his back pocket and sits on the dirty pavement. He's only down a few minutes before Zack crouches next to him, arm curling around Spencer's shoulder.

"It was time, Zack. I know it, she knows it. It was over before it even got started." Spencer bows his head and lets Zack run fingers through his hair for a few minutes before sighing. "Okay. I should get on the bus, huh?"

Zack stands up first, pulling Spencer with him. "Piggy-back?"

Spencer sees Ryan pacing next to the bus, chewing on his nails and obviously trying not to get caught spying on him. Spencer feels his chest tighten just a little more before he takes a deep breath and nods at Zack.

"Piggy-back, yeah," he says, and jumps up on Zack's back.

***

The start of Spencer's twenty-second birthday is much like his nineteenth, only Spencer wishes he could love _anyone_ even half as much as he loves Ryan.

The end of Spencer's twenty-second birthday is drastically different. Three years ago he definitely hadn't picked up a skinny scene kid with big eyes and brown hair and fucked him in the dressing room of the arena while the rest of his band signed autographs.

Maybe he should have. It may not be love, but it feels fucking fantastic.

***

Happy fucking Birthday, Spencer thinks to himself as he pulls off his tie and toes off his shoes. Nothing like turning twenty-four, standing next to your best friend at his dress rehearsal. Unless, of course, it's sitting next to him at the dinner and toasting the happy couple.

"While dying inside," Spencer mutters. He looks around his hotel suite, still unused to so much extra luxury, even after all these years. The van cramped with four boys who were thrilled to get a roach-infested hotel room for a night seems so long ago, and now here he is at the fucking Waldorf Astoria, each man getting his own room the night before Ryan and Keltie's wedding.

He scowls at his custom-made Armani tuxedo hanging in the armoire, pressed and ready for tomorrow. Spencer hangs up his suit jacket next to it before sliding off his pants, kicking them to the side. He starts in on his shirt, wondering if the champagne he had at the dinner was enough to get him through the rest of the night alone or if he should take advantage of the wet bar and ensure himself of a maudlin evening. Alone.

Maybe he should've taken what the cater waiter was so clearly offering him at dinner. Spencer's sure that if he were to go down to the banquet hall he could still find him. Or someone just as good. He starts to button up his shirt again, contemplating jeans or his dress pants, when a loud knock at the door makes him jump.

A look through the peephole shows his visitor is not, as he was hoping, the hot cater waiter using some initiative. He opens the door anyway and forces a smile.

"Ryan." Spencer leans against the doorjamb, right hand gripping the doorknob out of Ryan's sight. "Why aren't you with the blushing bride?"

Ryan snorts as he pushes past Spencer. "Keltie wants to be traditional, so I'm not allowed to see her until the ceremony. By the way," he pauses to wave a hand at Spencer, finger moving in a lazy circle, "she wants to make sure you shave the stubble. For the photos." Ryan walks over to the bar and selects two bottles of Jack Daniels with a grin. "Drink?"

Spencer shuts the door, barely resisting the urge to bang his head against it as he slides the lock into place. "I don't know, Ryan. I'm tired." Spencer doesn't look at the hurt he's sure must show on Ryan's face, instead picking up his dress pants and hanging them up. "Why don't you go see Jon or Brendon? I'm sure they'll lament your passing bachelor status with you."

"Because I'd rather be with my best friend?" Ryan's looking at him like he's crazy for even suggesting it. It's all Spencer can do not to laugh, because Ryan _is_ his best friend and Spencer should want to spend the evening with him, but it fucking hurts to look at him and know that he'll never love Spencer the way Spencer loves him. Fuck.

"Besides," Ryan continues, "I'm sure Jon and Cassie are enjoying a weekend without the baby and I think Brendon hooked up with a cater waiter."

Spencer spins around from the armoire. "Cater waiter? Which one—was he the one with brown hair and big eyes, kinda skinny?" Ryan shrugs and nods. "Fucking fuck!" Spencer grabs one of the bottles from Ryan and drinks it down in one long swallow before reaching for the second.

"Whoa, dude," Ryan says as he shifts the bottle behind his back. "What's your problem?"

Spencer's laugh comes out a broken sound before he can control himself. "Nothing, Ryan. Absolutely nothing is wrong." He turns his back to Ryan, shutting the wardrobe then fussing with his bag that sits on the foot of the bed, pretending to look for something, _anything_ , so he doesn't have to look at what he can't have.

He's staring intently at the contents of the bag, but he senses Ryan coming up behind him, before he feels Ryan's long fingers gripping his shoulder, turning him around so they're eye to eye. Spencer forces himself to put on what he secretly calls his "interview face"—polite disdain, a slight sneer, no emotion in his eyes. Ryan's eyes widen, and Spencer is reminded of days long ago, when Ryan's expressions showed more hurt than happiness, and Spencer hates that he can thank Keltie for fixing that, for fixing Ryan.

"I got you a present," Ryan says after a moment, pulling a small Tiffany's box out of his jacket's inner pocket. "For your birthday. You didn't think I forgot, did you?"

Spencer had thought that, absolutely. With all the wedding shit happening, there had been no mention of what today was, save for Jon whispering happy birthday when they'd hugged in greeting that morning.

"No, no, of course I didn't think you forgot," Spencer stammers, forces himself to smile a little. "Can I open it now?" He reaches out, barely masking a flinch when Ryan's fingers touch the palm of his hand.

Ryan doesn't say anything in response, just bites his lip and looks nervous. Spencer wonders at that, sliding the white satin ribbon off the box slowly, tucking it into the breast pocket of his shirt before lifting the lid to reveal a set of cufflinks. Beautiful white gold cufflinks, a diamond in the center of each. Spencer inhales sharply, not knowing what to say.

"Do you like them?" Ryan sounds so eager, so happy. "Keltie helped me pick them out. I thought maybe you could wear them. You know, tomorrow?"

Spencer's gaze flits up to Ryan's face briefly before he focuses once again on the box in his hand, gently picking up one cufflink to see the elegant _SS_ engraved on the back. "They're beautiful, Ryan. They're the most beautiful fucking cufflinks _ever_." Spencer drops the cufflink back in the box, puts the lid back on before tossing it to the chair on his right.

"Spence?"

Spencer walks over to the door, gets his hand on the handle before he answers. "I'm really tired. You should go." He opens the door, doesn't look back to Ryan, keeping his eyes focused on the sign explaining how to get out of the Waldorf in case of an emergency.

He knew it wouldn't be easy, but it still surprises Spencer when Ryan smacks the back of his head before slamming the door shut. Ryan leans against the door, arms crossed over his chest, silent, waiting for Spencer to speak.

Spencer thinks he's going to wait a long fucking time before that happens, and turns to find a pair of jeans so he doesn't feel so exposed. For the second time that night, Ryan grabs his shoulder to spin him around.

"Spencer. Seriously." Ryan tightens his grip on Spencer's left shoulder in what Spencer assumes is supposed to be a caring and supportive manner, but just serves to piss Spencer off more. Spencer shrugs the hand off and puts both his hands on Ryan's shoulders in one quick movement, pushing him up against the door with a low growl.

"Seriously?" Spencer asks in a mocking voice. "You want to know what my problem is, _seriously_?"

Ryan nods, bottom lip between his teeth, eyes betraying his nervousness. Spencer studies his face, taking in the fear, relishing it, and realizes he's turned on by it instead of hating himself for putting that look back on Ryan's face.

"This is my problem, Ryan," he whispers, crowding up against Ryan, chest to chest, the buckle of Ryan's pants digging into his lower stomach. Spencer can feel the soft slide of fabric against his bare legs, making his hips twitch involuntarily. " _You're_ my problem," Spencer continues. "You've been my problem since I was fifteen, and I've never been _yours_."

Ryan's arms come up to push Spencer away, but Spencer's having none of it, grabs Ryan by his wrists and slams his arms up against the door on either side of his head, pushes his hips into Ryan's more firmly. They're both breathing heavily, angry and aroused on Spencer's part, but probably just anger for Ryan. Spencer rests his forehead gently against Ryan's, counting to ten to calm down. He makes it to five before pressing an open-mouthed kiss to Ryan's left temple, seven and he's kissing the spot in front of Ryan's ear, eight and Ryan's earlobe is caught in Spencer's teeth and he's rubbing his stubbled cheek along Ryan's jaw, loving the feel of smooth skin, the smell of Ryan's scent.

"Spence? What are you—"

"Shut up. Christ," Spencer grates out, low, lips moving down the length of Ryan's neck, teeth gently scraping, tongue a slow wet glide. Spencer pushes Ryan's arms up higher, over his head, traps both wrists in his left hand easily. Ryan doesn't fight the movement and Spencer lifts his head, pulls back slightly to look down at Ryan's face. His eyes are closed, head tilted back and to the right, giving in to Spencer's ministrations, and his lips are parted, breaths coming in tiny gasps.

"Fuck, Ryan," Spencer moans.

He presses against Ryan, right hand sliding down to cup Ryan's jaw, push his head up to meet Spencer's lips for a kiss, the third kiss Spencer's ever sought from his best friend. He pauses there, lips against lips, trading breaths, waiting for Ryan to fight, to say no, to have any reaction at all. Spencer feels Ryan tremble, a full-body shudder a split second before he registers the sensation of Ryan's tongue licking his upper lip and he tightens his grip on Ryan's wrists and jaw, pushes closer and fits his mouth over Ryan's, fully and completely.

It's nothing like Spencer's imagined time and time again. He's the one in control, not Ryan. Spencer groans, forcing his tongue into Ryan's mouth, quick and dirty, rubbing against Ryan's teeth before withdrawing to suck on Ryan's bottom lip. He bites at it, hard, making Ryan whimper in protest before he soothes it with soft licks. Ryan pushes forward then, into Spencer's mouth, hot and wet, and the movement brings their bodies into closer contact, Spencer's cock digging into Ryan's hip, hard and oh-so-right.

Spencer lets go of Ryan's jaw, drags his hand down to the buttons on Ryan's shirt, trying to get them undone while kissing Ryan, shifting his hips in time with the movements of their tongues. He makes it through the first three when Ryan shifts upward suddenly, bringing their dicks into contact for the first time.

"Oh, _God_." Spencer breaks away from the kiss, breathing harsh and heavy, letting go of Ryan's wrists to rip at the shirt, tearing it open with two rough tugs. Spencer stares at Ryan's flushed chest before settling his hands over his ribs, feeling them expand and contract with every breath. He makes himself look at Ryan's face, impossibly wide eyes, swollen lips, and he knows he's making a mistake but can't help it, he wants this so much.

Spencer slowly kisses Ryan again, catching his lips with a smooth glide, their tongues moving and chasing each other, back and forth. Ryan's arms come up between the press of their bodies, his hands pushing on Spencer's chest and Spencer thinks he's fucked it all up, but Ryan is still kissing him and Ryan's fingers are trying to undo the buttons on Spencer's shirt. Spencer can't help but grin against Ryan's mouth, and he slides his hands up to Ryan's shoulders, under his shirt and jacket, pushing it off, down his arms, making Ryan abandon Spencer's buttons.

"Stop." Ryan pulls back from the kiss, presses his hands firmly on Spencer's chest again. "Spencer, we have to stop."

Spencer mutters a quiet "shut up" again, tilting his head down for another kiss, bringing his hands around to Ryan's belt buckle. He gets it undone, pulls the belt all the way off, and goes for the buttons on Ryan's pants, exterior, inside button, finally the zipper is in his fingers when Ryan pushes hard, causing Spencer to stumble back slightly, off-guard.

"Fucking stop it, Spencer." Ryan is holding his arms up in front of him as if to warn Spencer away. "I don't want this."

"Bullshit." Spencer takes a step forward, but Ryan shifts, moves away from the door and puts his back to the room. "Bullshit," he repeats. "You were kissing me back, Ryan. You got hard. I felt it."

Ryan shakes his head, crosses his arms over his chest. "What the hell are you thinking, Spencer? I'm getting married tomorrow!"

"That's exactly what I'm thinking!" Spencer crowds closer, Ryan taking a step back for every step he moves forward. "You're getting _married_ and I've loved you since I was fifteen. This is my last chance."

Ryan snorts a laugh. "Oh, come on. You have not. You've been fucking scene kids practically in front of me for years."

"You're an idiot. Fuck." Spencer takes one last step and pushes Ryan until the back of his knees hit the foot of the bed and he flails his arms in a way Spencer is sure he'd find funny if he wasn't so fucking angry and turned on. Spencer pushes again and Ryan falls onto his back, elbows catching his weight, and pain flashes on Ryan's face before he can hide it.

"Sorry," Spencer mumbles, not sorry at all. He stands over Ryan, still wearing his half-buttoned shirt— _Prada_ , his mind whispers, _be careful_ —and boxer briefs, and looks up the length of Ryan's body, pants undone, his chest heaving, his red swollen lips, the anger in his eyes. Spencer finds it all so fucking hot and he wants, he wants just as much as he wanted Ryan in that stupid dressing room nine years ago.

"What the fuck, Spence?" Ryan starts to push up from the bed and Spencer can't have that, he needs this with Ryan. Tonight. It's his last chance, and if he doesn't at least try to get Ryan to admit that there's more between them than being best friends, Spencer knows he'll regret it for the rest of his life. He does the only thing he can think of to keep Ryan there and climbs up on the bed over him, knees on either side of Ryan's hips, nudging his toiletries bag out of the way.

Ryan leans back on his arms, eyes wide. "Spencer, I mean it, we can't do this!"

"Yes, we can, Ryan, c'mon." Spencer settles his weight on Ryan's hips, grinds down to feel Ryan's cock, half-hard, twitch under his ass. "Just once, just tonight," he whispers, inching forward so his hands settle on either side of Ryan's hands. "No one will ever know but us."

Spencer lowers himself gently, hips moving clockwise, brushing cocks still covered by too much fabric, eyes locked with Ryan's until the last possible second when he dips his head, drags his tongue flat up Ryan's sternum, moaning at the taste of Ryan's skin and sweat bursting on his taste buds. Ryan's arms slowly bend until he's lying flat on the bed. Spencer places gentle kisses up the center of Ryan's chest, nipping bites along his neck, a hard suck to his Adam's apple before pulling back and away, resting fully on Ryan's hips, hands on his own thighs.

Ryan has his eyes closed, mouth pressed in a thin line, but he's flushed and he's still hard and he's yet to really say no like he means it.

Spencer loves him and he knows he's fucking them up forever but he can't stop himself from pushing for this, pushing Ryan to let him have his way. He realizes his hands have been rubbing the insides of his thighs, and he slips them under the edge of his boxers, drawing little circles on his skin in counterpoint to the rhythm he's yet to stop with his hips.

He can't keep in the whimper he makes when the fingers of his left hand brush his balls, and when he does it harder his legs tighten around Ryan's body, causing Ryan to gasp and thrust his hips up into Spencer before he seems to force his body still again, hands shifting restlessly until they, too, stop moving.

Spencer pauses, watching Ryan clench his hands into the duvet, his eyes still firmly closed.

"Ryan," he whispers. Ryan doesn't react. "Ryan, open your eyes, c'mon, Ry." Spencer's teeth play with his bottom lip until Ryan's open, and he smiles down at him with a soft chuckle. "Look, Ryan."

Spencer moves his right hand up to the waistband of his boxers, peeling them down slowly, over his cock, exposing his left hand still rubbing his balls, drifting down to his perineum. "This is what you do to me, d'ya see?" He wraps his right hand around the base of his dick, thumb pushing it down toward Ryan's stomach before he fists himself, gliding up to the head and back down. Ryan's eyes are trained on Spencer's hands, and when Spencer swipes his thumb over the leaking slit and brings it up to his mouth to taste, Ryan licks his own lips. Spencer grins, moves his hands to grip Ryan's shoulders for support as he lowers himself down. Ryan lifts his head from the bed, meeting him halfway, lips brushing before their mouths open, Spencer's tongue pushing into Ryan's mouth, sharing the taste of his pre-come. Ryan groans, sucks Spencer's tongue hard and bucks his hips up, grinding against Spencer.

Spencer pulls back with a loud gasp, breathing hard with his mouth open. "Fuck, Ryan." He leans to the left, pushing his boxers down more, swearing softly when he realizes he'll have to get off his knees to get them off. He looks up at Ryan, scared that Ryan will take advantage of his freedom and move away from the bed, but Ryan looks back at him before laying his head back down in acquiescence. Spencer scrambles off the bed, pushing his boxers down his right leg and is over Ryan on all fours as fast as he can, shaking his left leg out behind him until he can feel the boxers drop off his foot and onto the floor.

He bends his head again, whispers Ryan's name against his lips, pressing chaste kisses over Ryan's face and neck while he blindly roots through his bag, pushed out of the way above Ryan's head. Spencer mutters a "fucking finally" before he pulls back and up, shirttails trailing over his hips, cock poking through in front where the buttons are undone.

"Spencer," Ryan finally gets out, voice raw. "Please, don't—"

"Shhh," Spencer whispers. "I'll take care of you, promise." He lifts onto his knees, shimmies back a few inches, settles back down over Ryan's trembling thighs. A quick sweep of his hands over Ryan's stomach and he's unzipping Ryan's pants the rest of the way, folding the plackets down, exposing the bright blue of Ryan's briefs, white piping helping to outline his dick curving to the left, hard and leaking, a dark wet spot staining the blue cotton at the tip. Spencer wraps his hand around it, over the fabric, and Ryan jerks up, pushing into it, grabs at Spencer's thighs before shifting abruptly to cover his eyes with his hands.

Spencer grins, reaches through the opening to gently pull Ryan's cock out, fisting him hard once it's fully exposed. Ryan bucks again, whispers a litany of "Spencer" and "please." Spencer lets go abruptly, ignoring Ryan's groan of protest to grab the condom he'd pulled from his bag, tearing it open with his teeth and sliding it down on Ryan with quick movements.

Ryan's hands fly down from his face, wrapping around Spencer's forearms. "What? No, Spence, no, please—"

Spencer shakes his hands off, puts a hand over Ryan's mouth. "Shut _up_. God." He looks down at Ryan's face until Ryan narrows his eyes and nods shortly. "Good boy," Spencer smirks, moving his hand from Ryan's mouth to his left shoulder, supporting his weight as he pops the top of a tube of lotion open with his right hand, squeezing it out onto Ryan's stomach.

Ryan jumps at the feeling, whispers "Cold!" before he pulls his lips between his teeth and shakes his head, silently promising to keep quiet.

Spencer places a gentle kiss on Ryan's lips as he runs his fingers through the lotion. He leans up slightly, tightens his hold on Ryan's shoulder as he pushes two fingers inside himself fast, needing the burn of it, knowing the lack of stretching will mean he'll still feel this tomorrow and the day after, when Ryan's not his anymore.

Ryan's hands tentatively come up from the duvet to run up Spencer's legs to his hips, making Spencer moan. He pulls his fingers out with a gasp, makes another pass through the lotion before he wraps his hand around Ryan's cock, sliding it down to the base as he shifts forward, pressing it to his entrance.

"All those scene kids I picked up? They looked like you." Ryan's eyes widen, and Spencer starts to slowly shift back, sink down. "They wanted to be you. _I_ wanted them to be you. But you're the only one I—oh, _fuck_ —would ever let do this, Ryan."

" _Spencer_ ," Ryan whimpers, tightens his hold on Spencer's hips and thrusts up, a quick "sorry" escaping his lips.

"Don't be," Spencer sighs. "I want it. I want you." He shifts slightly, tucking his knees closer to Ryan's body before he lifts up, feeling the thick slide of Ryan's cock inside him, the fullness of the head nearly pulling all the way out before Ryan suddenly jerks him back down, hard.

"Yes, please, God, again," Spencer clenches around Ryan, breathing heavily, and covers Ryan's hands with his own. They move together, silent except for their matching gasps and moans, Spencer moving up and Ryan pulling back, only to meet with a loud slap of flesh in the middle.

"Ry—Ryan, I'm gonna, oh, fuck, Ryan, _please_ ," Spencer stutters. He moves Ryan's left hand to his cock, neglected until now, harder than Spencer can ever remember, and it only takes one shared pull and Spencer's coming, gasping Ryan's name over and over as he shudders, come arcing onto Ryan's chest, his stomach, and they still move their joined hands over Spencer's dick, squeezing out the last of it over their hands until suddenly Ryan drives up and up, and Spencer feels him pulsing inside, letting go.

Spencer falls forward, catching himself with his left arm on the bed, taking deep gulps of air. Ryan looks up at him with his wide, wide eyes for a few breaths before he turns his head to the right.

"I should go," Ryan whispers.

Spencer exhales sharply, closing his eyes. "Please, don't—. Stay." He feels Ryan's hand cup his cheek, pushes his face into the warmth.

"Please, Ryan," he whispers.

***

Spencer hears the door click shut around six in the morning. He blinks his eyes rapidly, refusing to give in to the urge to freak out, instead rolls onto his side, curling around a pillow, and stares blankly at the wall.

***

Staring at his watch isn't going to make time go any slower—it's almost two in the afternoon, finally. Spencer can picture Ryan standing at the front of the room, Brendon and Jon next to him, the wedding guests whispering about Spencer's absence, turning in their seats to watch Keltie walk down the aisle. He's waiting for it to be quarter after, so he can check out without getting caught.

Spencer shifts his gaze from his watch to the rumpled bed across from him. The sheets are still kicked to the bottom of the bed, pillows pushed to the side, and two empty condom wrappers are sticking out from under the duvet on the floor. His toiletries are spread across everything, the bag having been knocked from the bed sometime during the night.

"Fuck!" Spencer throws his watch across the room, somehow missing everything, even the wall, just to land ineffectually on the chair near to the bed. Next to the Tiffany's box. "Fuck," he whispers as he slides to the floor and buries his face in his hands.

He's not sure how long he's been sitting against the wall when there's a soft knock on his door. Spencer ignores it at first, but there's another knock a minute later, just a bit louder, and he knows he has to answer it. It's probably someone from the hotel kicking him out per the groom's request, he thinks ruefully.

"I'll be out within the hour," he says as he opens the door to—

"Ryan," he breathes. "What? Um. Ryan." Spencer runs a hand over his face, through his hair, making sure he's not imagining things and maybe trying to erase signs of his sleepless night and day. Ryan's still there when he opens his eyes, though.

He's still there and he's wearing the Armani tuxedo that matches the one hanging up behind Spencer and he looks like shit, like he got no sleep either. And, holy _fuck_ , there's a bruise peeking out over the collar of his shirt, and Spencer can see hints of beard burn along his jaw. Spencer blinks a few times and marvels that despite all of this, Ryan is still the most beautiful man Spencer's ever seen and he's so very much in love with him.

Spencer opens his mouth to talk, not even sure of what he's going to say, how he can make things right between them, but Ryan beats him to it by placing a hand over his mouth.

"I, uh," Ryan stammers. "Can we not do this in the hall?"

Spencer nods, takes a few steps back with Ryan's hand still over his mouth. His eyes must look comically wide to Ryan right now, but he can smell Ryan's cologne and he never thought he'd be close enough to Ryan to smell that again, so he decides to just go with the flow and let Ryan tell him he hates him and that he's never speaking to him again. Then Ryan takes his hand away as he shuts the door and leans against it, head bowed. Spencer remembers the night before, Ryan leaning against that door, but keeps his mouth shut and waits.

"You weren't standing next to me," Ryan finally says without looking up. "I was up there, on my _wedding day_ , Spencer, and you weren't standing next to me. And, well." Ryan looks up at him, face betraying no emotion, but his eyes seem to be shining with fear over something Spencer can't figure out. "And you've stood next to me my whole life, Spencer. I can't lose that. I can't lose _you_."

Spencer keeps staring at Ryan, both of them biting their bottom lips, both waiting for the other to say something. Finally, after what feels like eternity but is probably only thirty seconds or so, Ryan pushes off the door and steps in front of Spencer, grasps both of Spencer's hands to hold in his. Spencer's brain registers that Ryan's hands are freezing, just like they always are, and he flashes back to a hotel room so many years ago.

Spencer doesn't let go.

  
_end_   


**Author's Note:**

> Songs that got me through: _Calling You_ by Blue October; _Ava Adore_ by Smashing Pumpkins; _The Way That He Sings_ by My Morning Jacket; _House of Smoke and Mirrors_ by Matthew Good basically on repeat for the final scene.  
> [The cufflinks for sale at Tiffany.](http://www.tiffany.com/Shopping/Item.aspx?sku=19353885&mcat=148208&cid=288160&search_params=s+5-p+1-c+288160-r+-x+-n+6-ri+-ni+0-t+)


End file.
